Flirting with Disaster
by Ala Verity
Summary: Once again, poor Chiba Mamoru finds himself as the envy of, well, everyone's desires, and on a dating game show nonetheless! So what exactly is a man to do when forced to choose between love and fate—especially with Tsukino Usagi in the thick of it?
1. Prologue

Flirting with Disaster

Hi everyone! A tiny smattering of humor and just a dash of l'amour for your reading pleasure! If it doesn't strike your fancy right away—well then, write away! That's right! Mamo-chan, who I borrowed from the too-generous Naoko Takeuchi and have no intention of returning anytime soon, deserves to be written about in a flattering manner, at the very least! And so, I present to you chapter one to a very long, very mind-boggling version of events in the world of this man and his—well, his "soulmate," if you will.

And before I turn you over to this wonderful world of twists and turns, I'd like to add my thanks to Joey, who was the first to read the beginning (and unfinished) stages of this fanfiction—thank you for enduring my endless pokes and naggings about finishing the readings! And Halbert, who so endearingly dubbed it "erotica" (it is NOT erotica in any way, shape, or form—can't you read the rating?!) and helped it bloom in its earliest stages by letting me read his own works. And of course, Fang, what would I do without you? The countless hours of late-night revisions, all thanks to some dearly-needed encouragement. Not to mention the latest addition to the crew on board, an ardent fiction reader to whom I turn to as my supplement on the latest developments in the ever-expanding realm of writing—you know who you are! A reader with, perhaps, the best qualifications as of yet to critique my works. I am still looking for un-official online editors, but thanks so much for all your support! And now...on with the show!

Prologue

Sunlight danced through sleepily swaying curtains. Noontime.

Noontime.

Noontime? Noo—"Yaaarrghhhh!"

A ball of blankets flew up in a flurried frenzy on the pink-quilted bed. Noontime already! The bulging mass struggled violently while the occasional arm or leg flailed from within the gaping sheet-creature's mouth. The dizzying sight of this jumble of pillows, bedsheets, and limbs would have been enough to convince anyone of the boogeyman's existence.

And then—pop! Out of the yawning void of the blanket-monster tumbled a hopelessly scrambled girl who looked no less monster-like than her bedcover-counterpart, brilliant hair askew and still shining under that darn noontime sun. With a disgruntled huff, she shook off the suffocating sheets and leapt up, newly liberated. Then she flung open the door and thundered down the stairs as if all the furies in hell were on her tail.

She sped around the landing at top speed, letting out an unearthly shriek as she skid dangerously on the wood paneling and left scorch marks on the polished floor. On the last few steps to the front door, she gave a flying leap that would have made her the envy of a flying squirrel and pounced on the door handle. Then she wrenched open the door with superhuman speed—and found her face inches from a very large fist.

She blinked once. Twice.

And promptly slammed the door shut again.

"Usako?" The voice sounded much closer than it should have through the closed door, as if it had not slammed shut properly. "Usako, honey, are you okay in there?" Just as Tsukino Usagi decided that the best option at this point would be to ignore the disembodied voice and try to tip-toe unnoticed away from the door, however, she saw something sitting by the door frame. 'Oh my God,' she thought, 'there's a foot in my doorway!'

"Usako!" the foot said worriedly. Usagi looked down at her own bunny slipper-clad feet and back at the talking one—wearing a shiny, black dress shoe, nonetheless—intruding in her house. Nope, definitely not her own. Well, in that case...

She swung her foot back and kicked hard.

And missed by a mile.

"Whoaaa!" Once again, she went flying up in the air, wondering vaguely whether or not her dad would finally listen to her and buy carpeting for that really, really hard wood floor of theirs. However, her thoughts were cut short as a hand shot through the door opening ('another wretched body part,' Usagi thought with fleeting self-amusement) and caught her neatly by the wrist. She felt herself being tugged forward out of the way of the door. The door was pushed open from the outside and a tall figure darted through just as Usagi hurtled towards the ground in notoriously perfected form. The world's greatest nosediver, ladies and gentlemen, at her best! Watch and learn—

Two seconds later, she lay sprawled out on the very soft and comfortable floor that had been neither very soft nor very comfortable-looking only seconds before. The very soft, comfortable, breathing floor...

"Oh. Hi, Mamo-chan." Usagi looked down into a pair of rather dazed blue eyes, which for her was a strange experience in itself (not counting the fact that she was lying on top of her very bemused boyfriend) since her "Mamo-chan" usually towered over her by a good fifteen or sixteen centimeters standing up. This time, though, not only were their positions _reversed_, but they were also a bit...just the tiniest bit...

Suggestive.

"You alright...Usako?" Chiba Mamoru breathed. The fall had knocked the wind out of him. Of course, it could also have to do with the fact that a certain odangoed girl was lying on top of him and thus restricting his breathing. The forces of gravity themselves, however, could not be entirely responsible for this breathless feeling, since a 45-kilogram girl could hardly constrict his chest in this way with mere weight. It was more because...she was...on top of...Oh boy.

"I'm fine," she mumbled into his shirt, seemingly content with staying in this position for some length of time. In fact, she looked ready to go right back to sleep. However, Mamoru was rather preoccupied with other, more disturbing thoughts; namely, how her father would react when he saw the two of them doing something very much like the horizontal tango. Probably chuck an armful of cherry bombs at him or something.

"Er...Usako, honey," Mamoru muttered, trying to slide out from under the cuddling girl without her noticing. This proved to be a very difficult task, however, and he gave up very quickly. Instead, he resigned himself to savoring the final minutes of his life before his certain premature death. And really, it was not too difficult to savor an enticing moment like this. 'At least I'll die happy,' he thought hopelessly. Mamoru was quite sure, in any case, that if Usagi were aware of her father's death wishes towards her dear soulmate, she might have moved. However, she did not know. So all this dangerous physical contact went unnoticed to the girl who was, as we have mentioned before, lying very intimately on top of a slightly stressed Mamoru. On the other hand, Mamoru did enough noticing of this little fact for the both of them. He blushed.

"...Hey, Usako...Are you planning on going out like—" He glanced down (or, rather, up) at Usagi's clothes and gulped. She wore a pink thin-layered pajama top with matching pajama bottoms. One of the buttons had come undone and now revealed a bit of skin immediately below the collarbone, although Mamoru thanked the heavens that nothing more showed, or he might be...affected...And God knows what would happen if he was influenced in a vulnerable position like this. As if in tandem with this appealing thought of seduction, his heart stopped for a full second, before resuming its beating at double-time, as if to make up for the temporary lapse due to...sensual affectations.

He tried again. "Going out in your pajamas?" He managed to croak, trying to laugh and sounding like a dying frog instead. But it worked. Usagi's eyes, which had been contentedly closed a moment before, shot open and widened in horror as she took a quick glance down at what could be seen of her sleepwear between their two tightly pressed-together bodies.

She gave a little squeak of distress and sprang up to her feet, tugging in dismay at her frizzled hair on the way up in an attempt to lesson the image damage done. The gesture, unfortunately, did not work, and poor Usagi was left, flustered and slightly embarrassed, to mumble an incoherent apology before shuffling off as quickly as she could without actually running. Mamoru, on the other hand, was left quite unceremoniously on the still very-stiff floor, lying right where their little encounter had left him.

For a few moments, Mamoru simply lay there, having only just regained the blessed faculty of free breathing. Tsukino Kenji entered the room on his way to the kitchen. Mamoru froze. It seemed strange to think that Usagi's father would appreciate Mamoru in this awkward position, lying in the family's doorway, more than he liked Mamoru standing up, but it seemed to be a comfort to him to think of Mamoru in a state that made him look so close to dead. So when he passed by the entrance hall, fully prepared to give Mamoru a piece of his mind for the noise he had caused, he spared Mamoru the usual non-verbal death threats and contented himself with trodding on Mamoru's fingers instead. However, even this would-be terrifying experience hardly registered with Mamoru, whose senses (particularly his physical ones) were elsewhere. His mind was beginning to unravel the implications of having his very sleepy, very innocent, very underage Usako lying—in her pink pajamas, nonetheless—right across him, ready to fall asleep again. He groaned softly and ran a weary hand through his dark hair, eyes closed, determined to keep the sleepwear-donning Usagi dancing circles in his mind's eye from intruding on his mental space. Except, of course, that he was now doing nothing but thinking about not thinking about her.

"But why shouldn't I, anyway? I mean, she's my girlfriend!" he reminded himself, but only half-heartedly. He pushed himself up from the floor, and his neck cricked violently. "Just to play it safe," he answered himself in a low voice. With a defeated sigh, he decided to distract himself by taking a good look around his familiar surroundings. Something caught his eye. Usagi's cushions. Turn around. Usagi's flowers. Look away. Usagi's pictures.

Mamoru walked to the nearest corner, rested his forehead against the wall, and stayed there for the rest of his long wait.

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What a milestone! What an accomplishment (or, rather, what accomplishment?) This is the first chapter I have ever published as an online author—which was for me to know and you to find out, after the fact was done and over with:) Not that deliberate deception particularly gains the trust of readers or anything. But I digress! Now that everything—or at least part of it—is out in the open, I implore the befuddled eyes perusing this screen, with my superbly fantastic expanded writer's vocabulary, to [YES...send feedback! E-mail me at Drown me in it! Be constructive! Be critical (to an extent)! But compliments don't hurt, either! In fact, they heal! What are you still doing here? Send! Overzealousness should be considered an attribute, not a character flaw.

And yes, I will respond! Even if I'm really, really slow. But I'll try not to be that way at least in writing this fic (which is something I've been saying for the past few months or so)! I do have to let you know that there will be a slight back-up until the next chapter—I'm so sorry, but school's started, what can I say? It might seem like a long time, but just think of how long Mamo-chan and Usagi had to wait to become King and Queen? But don't let that stop you! E-mail me!

Ala Verity, 


	2. Chapter 1

Flirting with Disaster

Ala Verity

A month is…28-31 days, one-twelfth of a year, one-120th of a decade, and one-12000th of a millennium. Which is approximately how long the Silver Millennium lasted (I should think). So…a month's really not all _that_ long a time to take to post…Actually, it seems like forever since the first chapter went up—and while I won't apologize for the delay (quality over quickness, right?), I do want to put it in a more positive light and appreciate everyone who has either been reading or has come to do so now! So thank you! Reviews and e-mails are like air to me, except a lot more tangible and bunches more loved! So here's another dosage of Usagi and Mamoru (and other lovely characters who don't belong to me) goodness—hopefully everything progresses a bit faster in this chapter! Hope the wait was worth it!

Oh, and just before I start, a big "hurrah" especially for my feedback-guru PingPong (ahh, you know who you are!), it's been a bigger help than you can imagine! And of course, Nate the Great, who's a humongo critic—but being hard to please, compliments are a blessing from him, and I got enough positive feedback from him to allow me to post. I might be looking for an online beta reader as well, so if you're interested in some editing support, let me know!

And now, as always…on with the show!

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Chapter 2

With the events of the morning still burning vividly his mind, it was with extreme caution (and increasing self-restraint) that Mamoru went about the rest of the day. But really, who decided it would be a good idea to allow her father to keep a flamethrower in the house?

"Oh, don't worry about that," Usagi had said with an airy wave of the hand when Mamoru pointed out his not-so-unreasonable concerns. "He told me it was for emergencies only. Something about burning unwelcome pests in our house alive."

So now, we once again join our slightly disturbed hero, who has just gotten into the car after a trial of, er…pain and suffering.

"Ow! Dam—I mean, darnit, since when did they start making car roofs so low? And where the heck are my keys?"

"Actually, Mamo-chan, you tried sticking your head through the closed door," Usagi observed wisely through a mouthful of pancakes. Slamming the door shut behind him, Mamoru turned in time to see a glob of butter drip from the soggy hotcakes.

Splat! Right onto her chest.

"Mamo-chan, would you--?"

"Yeah, napkin, I'm on it." He reached easily into the backseat for a pack of tissues. A sudden sensation fluttered in his right arm, and he realized his mistake too late—he had accidentally brushed against her arm. Near-masochistic shivers erupted all over his body as he debated whether it would be worth being flambéd for a taste of…

A flash of flames lit up the living room window.

…a taste of that pancake, of course.

"H-Here you go," he said, handing her the box without looking at her. Okay. Phew. You made it this far, man. Now what was next? Oh, right. Keys.

"Hey, sweetie?" Usagi asked as she dabbed at the front of her shirt purposefully. Mamoru fished out his keys (which had thankfully gotten wedged on the _other_ side of his seat) and sorted through them, looking for the one to the car. "What do you think? Should I go change shirts? I mean, the spot is right _there_." She jabbed at the dratted spot with much less modesty than Mamoru felt the occasion warranted. Mamoru dropped the keys again.

Ahh well…living was overrated anyway.

With an aching slowness, he turned his head in her general direction. "What?" he demanded of the stickshift, glaring at it so intently it was a wonder it didn't burst into flames too.

"I was wondering if you could see the stain. Can you see it from where you're sitting?"

This one required a bit more skill to maneuver. Craning his neck _just so_ he _looked_ like he was examining the spot, he tilted his head as far back as the car door would allow and crossed his eyes. He immediately dismissed the notion that this was anything like looking at a Magic Eye book—God forbid if anything popped out at him THIS time.

"Yearrh…yeahh no, you can't see it from here."

"Oh, okay, good."

They sat in silence for a while.

"Hey, Mamo-chan, do you think my shirt—"

"USAKO, my goodness, can't you see I'm driving?!" He jerked the wheel forcefully. So forcefully, in fact, that if the car _had_ been on, he would probably have plowed them straight into the flamethrower-happy house. Backtracking and noting his mistake, however, he jabbed the keys impatiently at the ignition and started the car. "You'd think I didn't have a road to watch!"

"Yes, dear," Usagi replied absentmindedly, quite unperturbed by his display of irrationality. She turned back to her hotcakes with waning enthusiasm.

"No, look, honey," Mamoru said a while later as the car trundled happily along an open country road and his eyes were focused safely on the streets. "I'm sorry. You really can't see the—" He glanced over dangerously for a moment, and the car lurched. "—the stain." Gulp. Oh, he could see the stain, all right. And that wasn't the only thing he could see. No thanks to her white top. Her new, white, incredibly low-cut—

"Shirt looks great on you, Usako," he finished his thoughts loudly, forcing his eyes back to the road with determination. He decided it was time to steer them—well, metaphorically speaking—off this dangerous course. Drumming his fingers idly on the steering wheel, he picked through a list of potential topics and finally settled on one that seemed relatively safe: their day's plans, a day just like any other.

"Okay, Usako, so where are we going?" he asked casually, shifting to third gear. She usually had a whole arsenal of ideas that she wanted to go through before the day ended. However, this time Usagi shot him a questioning look. "Mamo-chan, I thought we went over this already."

Had they? For a moment, he looked at her in confusion. An unsettling feeling prickled uncomfortably at the back of his neck, like he was forgetting a very unpleasant truth. But otherwise, he had absolutely…

A large sign flashed by on the side of the road, and Mamoru's head turned automatically to read it. "Looking for your lucky lover?"

…absolutely no idea…

"Well, then today's YOUR lucky day!"

Then it hit him so hard he felt sure he collided with the billboard.

"Oh, shoot. Oh hell. Oh SHI—" How could he have ever forgotten?

Because today was far from becoming a day like any other.

Today was going to be the most unlucky day of his life.

Today was game show day.

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"Come on, Mamo-chan, it'll be fun!"

"If you thought Beryl had fun getting moon-dusted, then yeah, sure, this will be loads of fun—"

"Oh _please_.You're attractive, handsome, intelligent, charming…" Usagi added as an afterthought, "Sexy."

Well, it wasn't so bad when you put it _that_ way…

"—All the girls will love you. Not to mention you'll get to meet a lot of people, which is something you certainly haven't done for a long time—"

He had suddenly turned from sexy heartthrob to…social hermit. He opened his mouth, manly pride seriously injured and his masculinity roaring for retort.

"—and that is _not_ the same thing as saying you are a social hermit, Mamo-chan."

Mamoru let out a convincing huff and threw his hands up in the air, very exasperatedly. "Why in the world would I think something stupid like that?"

"How long have I known you?"

"I—sorry?" he said. Confused, he began slowly ticking off the decades on his fingers—a millennium in the previous lifetime, plus three in this one…five-hundred twenty-seven—no, was it five-hundred twenty-eight?—in the next one, but only if you counted the big Tokyo slumber, and that didn't include the overlap between time dimensions and leap years…

"One thousand seven hundred fifteen years and counting, mister." He always did say she could do math if she put her mind to it. "You think, after all those long, _pleasurable_ nights we spent together—"

Mamoru choked.

"—you think you wouldn't let something or another slip in between your little moaning sessions? Because be-lieeeve you me, I learned more during those nights than you would _ever _be able to tell me in a lifetime. So please. Don't insult me."

In his best attempt at a rebuke, he replied, rather meekly, "Yeah? Well, I learned a lot too—! Believe what you will, Usa—" He faltered under her withering gaze. "Usa—ah, ah…konevermind?" he amended quickly.

Because truth be told, the only thing he learned was when to shut up. So he did. Usagi shot him a half-scornful, half-amused look as she took the lead up to an expansive stage. Mamoru watched as she mounted the steps, admiring the renewed bounce in her step and the sway of her body…God, how that girl could go from fury to angel in the blink of an eye…

When Usagi noticed that Mamoru was no longer behind her, she turned on her heel to face him with a frown. "Mamo-chan, we're going to be late for your appointment."

No effect. He continued to gaze up at her with a silly grin, memorized every slight feature of her frowning face, and stood limply as she came down in exasperation to pull him up the stairs. "I said, come _on_, Mamo-chan, this show's not going to wait for us—I mean, for you!"

Her touch jolted him abruptly back to reality. Suddenly feeling once more like a man walking to the gallows, he made his way across a (gulp) wooden platform and followed Usagi into the dead center of the stage.

Mamoru laughed bitterly to himself. '_Dead_ center, Mamoru? Which Grim Reaper ruined _your_ day?'

"Okay," Usagi said, coming to a stop and spinning around with a flourish. "SO. We're finally here! And as I was saying earlier…who knows? It's a dating show, right? So maybe you'll find someone you actually like…!"

Mamoru eyed his girlfriend incredulously. "If you're saying that I should take a few millennia worth of destiny, shove it out the window and find another lover, you can just forget—"

"I'm _not_," Usagi cut in reasonably, "saying anything of the sort. All I'm saying is that you've been so caught up in the whole fate thing that you've never got a chance to really explore your options. Now—" she continued as Mamoru opened his mouth to interrupt, "Now that things have finally quieted down a bit, don't you think you ought to relax a little? Have some fun?"

"But Usako...!" Mamoru whined, taking a new approach and pouting. Which, truth be told, almost made Usagi stop for a second and reconsider, before retaliating with full gusto. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he was going to get!

"Look," said the Queen (quite literally) of Adorable Begging with a smirk, "do you think I would let you, Chiba Mamoru, my many lifetimes' love, walk away from me that easily if I thought there was even a cat's chance of you leaving me for good?"

Okay, she had a point. Not to mention a really great smile.

Mamoru's defenses crumbled like French apple pie. Imaginary trumpets sounded in his ear, and the herald in his mind's eye ran in panicky circles screaming, "The battle has been lost! _Run for your lives!_ EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF!" before taking a running leap and diving back into the depths of Mamoru's subconscious.

"Erm...okay, that was random."

"What?"

"Huh? Nothing." Mamoru shook his head, pushing all thoughts of medieval messengers to a dark corner of his mind. "Okay, so...so what you're saying is that you want me to have fun."

"Uh-huh."

"And a dating game show is going to help me do that _how_?_"_

Usagi twirled her hair around her unbelievably long fingers, and her chin tipped dangerously towards her chest. She let tendrils of loose hair fall in her eyes _just so_ before continuing in a trembling voice that necessarily meant tears, "Well, if you really don't want to…Mamo-chan…"

"W-What? Wait, no, Usako…!"

Moments later, after a whole lot of overdone "Of course not, Usako!"'s and "I knew it, you don't really love me, Mamo-chan!"'s, a lot of very intimate "apologizing" and a few scrabbles for the upper hand, a laughing Usagi emerged from the battle, clutching onto a defeated Mamoru.

"You didn't _really_ think you could escape, did you, mere mortal?" Usagi roared, towering over him with her hands on her hips and her chest out as her booming laughter filled the room, while Mamoru groveled at her feet shouting, "No! Never! Nothing like that, my dearest!"

Not really. But hey, it could have happened.

"Oh, Mamo-chan," Usagi sighed, leaning up against his chest contentedly, "You're the absolute best."

Mamoru grunted.

Now that wouldn't do! With a sly smile she leaned up on tip-toes and left a swift, burning kiss on his lips. That opened him up a little bit.

"Usako, honey," said Mamoru in a daze, "are shoe yer abouth dis? Mmmph—I-I mean…" He pulled reluctantly away from a liplock that was in danger of emitting sparks—"Are you sure about this? I'll do it if it's what you really want (Ohh…Ack! _Usako_!We're in _public_!)—God knows I only want you to be happy—but I don't want things between us to go wrong because (USAKO! _Stop that!_ I'm trying to be serious here!) I said I'd go on this sh—show…ohh…" And having finished, he succumbed inevitably to her advances, fighting valiantly all the way down.

A few pleasurable minutes later…

"Now, Mamo-chan," Usagi breathed innocently, eyes still twinkling mischievously from her little excursion of distractions during his oh-so chivalric speech, "why would you ever say such a thing? You just worry about yourself—I'll be watching from the stands, Michiru-chan and Haruka-chan should be here any moment now—" Her eyes grew wide as she looked down at her watch. "Oh no! Mamo-chan—" She was suddenly behind him, pushing him in the direction of what looked like Barbie's dressing room. "—look I've really got to go—I mean, _you've_ got to go so just enjoy yourself and I'm sure you'll have lots of fun see you at break time bye—and remember, just be yourself!" And with these fleeting words of wisdom, she sped off in the other direction, leaving skid marks in her wake and pulling out what looked like a small object from her jacket pocket as she went.

He blinked. He was standing in the middle of a brightly lit room, the intensity of the lights stretching the walls of the rooms to intimidating heights. Everything was drenched in a sickeningly sterile white—but at second glance, Mamoru saw that it was just flaky, crumbling wallpaper and a bad assortment of furniture covers. A small vanity sat with its cracked mirror on one side of the room, and on the opposite wall stood a flashing neon sign that spelled out in big, brazen letters, "DATING GAME—SOULMATES FOR LIFE!" The exclamation mark hung sadly by the neck—what he wouldn't give to put himself in that position…

He was so preoccupied with his morbid speculations that he had hardly a moment to register what was happening before—

"ACK!" With an unceremonious shriek he fell back, and a stout ugly man dressed all in white stepped out of what only a moment earlier Mamoru thought to be wall.

"Ahoy there!" the hideous visionary said, smoothing back non-existent hair and flexing his pudgy fingers ostentatiously. "You must be Chiba Mamoru, am I not correct? Of course I am!" He laughed loudly at his own wittiness and winked. "But of course, you know who I am?"

"An envoy from hell?"

"Clo-ose enough! I'm Mister X, but the ladies just prefer to call me _Mysterious_. Mister, Rious—get it? Aha, ha, HA!"

"Yeah?" Mamoru, less reassured than he would have been if this man _were_ a Negaverse messenger, said with contempt, "What do you want from me?"

"Hoho! They said you were uninformed, boy, but nobody ever mentioned anything about clueless!" He wagged a finger in Mamoru's face, the latter of which felt tempted to bite it clean off his hand—or better yet, to shove it up where the sun didn't sh— "…so let's get to it, pretty boy! Makeover time!"

"Huh?"

And then he suddenly felt himself being shoved into a chair with a loud "hey!" of protest, before being swiveled around and having copious amounts of this and that applied to his hair. It instantly swelled, gleamed, shimmered, blew in an imaginary breeze like in those shampoo commercials…Mister X then proceeded to lather lotions to his arms and work on the rest of Mamoru's body. At one point, the host's hand wandered downwards with what looked like a large square block of foam in an overt attempt to "spice things up for the ladies," as he called it; at which time Mamoru practically jumped out of his seat and strangled him for his invasion of privacy.

"Aghh—ack, okay, OKAY! We're—gack—done here!" The announcer struggled out of Mamoru's stronghold, breathing heavily and massaging his neck. Then, seeming to regain his confidence with a false sense of security, added, "Although that would explain why you can't find yourself a girl, it's not big enough to please _anyone_."

Mamoru snapped. With a bound of unprecedented agility, he lunged at the unsuspecting host with a beastly roar that would shake any female youma out of its skanky uniform. Letting out a high-pitched scream of terror, the host narrowly avoided being made into a pincushion by one of his own manicure sets, whose nail files and extra-protection glossy polish made ominous "thwumps" in the wall centimeters from his face. He stared for a split second, uncomprehending—then turned around to see a slightly manic-looking Mamoru standing at the opposite end of the room, his eyes glinting fanatically and casually tossing various styling products up and down in his hand.

"Oh shi—"

_Pew __pew_! Bottles of conditioner whizzed by.

_Fwack_! "Take that, you vermin!"

_Bam __bam__ bam—boosh!_ "Oh heck, that was my favorite piece of furnit—waagh!"

_Spulunk_. "What was _that_?"

"No idea," Mamoru replied, pausing to frown at the objects in his hand. The host took advantage of his moment's preoccupation to sneak out the one and only exit.

"Oy! HEY--!" Mamoru managed, right before the door slammed shut, and the unmistakable 'click' of the door being locked from the outside echoed through the room.

"Hell," he muttered, chucking the ming vase he was holding over his right shoulder and sinking angrily into the poufy swivel in front of the vanity.

However, his musings did not last very long. He looked up, and—

"Hey! Douchebag!"

Mamoru looked around him. Nobody there.

"Oy, oh-mighty handsome, talented, exceptionally attractive and charming future Neo-King of Tokyo! Over here!"

He looked into the mirror and shook his head once. Twice. One more time, for good measure or to kill his rebelling brain cells, he did not know which. Because healthy cells do not send images to your brain telling you that your reflection has come to life and is engaging in conversation with you.

"Oh, so THAT gets your attention. Figures." Pseudo-Mamoru rolled his eyes. "And hey, tell your narrator not to call me 'Pseudo-Mamoru,' I'm the real deal," he complained.

"You're an image of reflected particles being sent at somehow skewed angles to my eyes that are misinterpreted by my currently malfunctioning brain. Not to mention you're only real up to the waist and haven't got a genuine girlfriend for your bust-size self." Mamoru shrugged at himself, satisfied with this analysis. "Oh well. Guess you're small fry compared to the Moonlight Knight." It was hard to be surprised at anything anymore, especially when replicas of himself kept popping up everywhere. "So what's up?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that—the whole girlfriend thing," Pseudo-Mamoru said—

"HEY! I thought I told you not to call me that!"

Rewind five seconds.

"—wanted to talk to you about that—the whole girlfriend thing," Fake Mamoru said, "but there's something more serious we need to discuss first."

Mamoru leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, with a slight hint of apprehension, "Something more important than Usako?"

Pretend Mamoru nodded gravely. "Yes…what we need to talk about…"

"Yes?"

"What we need to talk about is…"

"_Yes_?"

"Wh—"

"YES?"

"_Will you stop interrupting me?_!" Replica Mamoru huffed impatiently, with his counterpart (or should I say, real part) looking identically disgruntled. "What I wanted to say is…" He paused for dramatic effect, not unlike what Tuxedo Kamen does when he poses unnecessarily under some street lamp or other with his cape waving majestically behind him in the wind when there are youmas to be dealt with. "_Your hair_."

Mamoru blanched. "My hair? What's wrong with my hair?"

False Mamoru shook his head sadly. "If only you could see yourself in a mirror!"

"Yeah, well no thanks to _you_ for that inconvenience—"

Imitation Mamoru simply replied, "See for yourself," and vanished promptly. In a second, he was replaced by Mamoru's real reflection, which resembled…

"Oh. My. God." A lion that just stepped out of an electric chair. "Aaaa—!"

Chiba Mamoru knows for a fact that he's a good looker. Heck, he gets told this all the time. But even if he can pull off the I-just-jumped-out-of-bed-but-don't-I-look-so-tousled-and-sexy look (and by God, can he ever), even he cannot compete with the cowardly lion from Oz costume.

So…Ten minutes later…

"—agggghh!" Mamoru flopped back into his chair, exhausted by his exertion.

"You see? What did I tell you?" prompted Mirror Mamoru, who had popped back into view and was now complacently filing his nails with one of the files that had previously been thrown his way. "You look like a lion that's just stepped out of an electric chair."

"We've already established that, thanks. You're not helping."

Imaginary Mamoru shrugged. "Can't help it if your oh-so supreme and omnipotent narrator takes my lines. So my first piece of advice is: _Fix your hair_. You're never going to keep a girlfriend that way."

"Like you'd know anything about that," Mamoru muttered resentfully.

Unreal Mamoru ignored him. "The second issue at hand is, of course, as I've already mentioned, about your _dearest_ Bunny." To his satisfaction, Mamoru looked up quickly, attention caught, and the reflection continued smugly, "What I would like to say, without risk of being interrupted yet again, is that _the little rabbit is not always as innocent as it seems_."

Mamoru blinked. "What?"

Ugly Pompous Self-Centered Mamoru dropped his haughty manner and scowled impatiently, "You dolt, I said that you shouldn't always—"

He froze. Somebody was outside the door and about to come in.

Copy Mamoru stopped as well, muscles tightening, and craned his neck around apprehensively. Mamoru heard something like a faint sound coming from the other end, and despite his own predicament, leaned in to listen. However, Duplicate Mamoru sensed his curiosity and turned back with a self-satisfied look, talking over the increasingly distinct sound of voices in the background.

"Oops, better run, little Endy, wouldn't want the world thinking you're more insane than you already are, would you?" He turned to leave with a smirk on his face. "Oh," he added, spinning around dramatically for the big finale, "And tell your narrator for me, would you, that I am _not_ something to be eaten like some imitation crab. Imitation Mamoru—ha!" Then, with a final flourish and otherwise totally uncharacteristic-of-Mamoru gesture, he flipped his head back extravagantly and strode out of sight.

"Hey! Wait! Agh…" Mamoru banged on the mirror before doing the same with his head on the table. "Why…" BANG. "Me…?" BANG. "Ow."

_Click_. "…Hey…Mamoru?"

Mamoru's head flew up. "You!" he exclaimed angrily. "You, why I oughta—huh?" Mamoru looked closely, and then exclaimed incredulously, "_Motoki-kun?_ What are _you_ doing here?! …And geez, what's happened to your hair?"

The blonde, who was now sporting a slicked-down-bangs cut with sporadic spikes jumping up in the back, chuckled good-naturedly and walked over to clasp Mamoru on the back. "Good to see you too."

"No, but seriously…" Mamoru looked confused. "You're not part of the set-up crew, are you? I thought you were still working at the arcade?"

Motoki, who was usually all good cheer and sunshine, darkened a bit. "Yes, I am…but as for being part of the 'crew…'" He looked around before continuing in a whisper. "I heard you'd been coerced into it too. Don't tell Reika I said anything…But she practically seduced a vow out of me to come." He tried running his hand through his hair, got it stuck in between two of the sharper peaks, and wrenched it out with a loud groan of pain. "Actually, I don't even remember saying anything. Next thing I know, I wake up in bed next to her, and she's looking happy as a bee."

Mamoru burst out in laughter. "You let your woman lead you around like a dog onto a stupid show like this?"

"Says the man sitting in front of me with the electric-chair lion doo," Motoki retorted matter-of-factly.

"Ahh, you're right. Forget I said anything and we'll call it even." He looked around, finally finding a conveniently placed pot of water into which he had previously _spalunked_ a hair-straightener. He dunked his head rather unceremoniously in the big basin and, when that did not work, upended the entire container on his head.

"Brilliant," said a laughing Motoki, eyeing his now-drenched best friend, "The girls will love it. We'll call it 'Wet Mamoru: Feast your Eyes on This!'"

"Yeah, well if I have time to blow-dry before the damn show starts, I won't be the one with the ridiculous cosplay hair, and we'll see who's lau—"

"OHOHOHOHO!" They both jumped two meters into the air. "Ready, my boys?"

Motoki shot Mamoru a grin that clearly read, 'Wet look it is!' Mamoru returned the volley with a look that shot daggers.

They were pulled abruptly out of their reverie as Mister X dragged the two of them forcibly out to the stage before vanishing completely, leaving them to acquaint themselves with the two other young men present.

"Gurio Umino," said the first immediately, coming up to them, "And what's happened to both of you guys' hair and all?"

"Urawa Ryo," the second supplied, "and what has happened to their hair (in accordance with the highly-refined communicative channels of the psyche which enable me to pick up such signals) is that both were taken as victims of a bad hair designer, and the second decided to take it upon himself to unwisely fix the situation, and failed miserably."

Silence.

"Er…yeah, that sounds about right," said Mamoru, the only one to understand a word of what Ryo had said.

Motoki, on the other hand, was eyeing the pair with dawning comprehension. "I know why you look so familiar!" he suddenly exclaimed. "You—" he pointed at Umino, "are the geek royale from Usagi-chan's school who had that crush on her before switching to Naru, and _you_—" he jabbed a finger in the general direction of Ryo, "are the legendary genius who got it on with Ami-chan!"

The whole world gaped at Motoki and his lack of tact while he preened, oblivious, in his own satisfaction. After a moment, he looked up. "Huh? What?"

Mamoru shook his head hopelessly. "Down, boy. So…how did you guys end up here?"

"Ami-chan—I mean! Mizuno-san…er, suggested it," Ryo finished feebly. And for once in his life, he could not find anything to say…but the blush creeping up on his face told them everything they needed to know.

Motoki raised his eyebrows in good humor and whispered, "Yeah, Ryo, we know _everything_." Ryo flushed, if possible, an even deeper red and became suddenly very interested in kicking at a hole in the floorboard.

"Well," Umino piped up, "I don't think Naru-chan wanted me anymore, so that's probably why she sent me here."

Everyone turned away in a fit of awkwardness, absorbed in their own thoughts. Mamoru sighed, longing to see Usagi. Maybe if he could convince her that the show was a waste of time, he could still whisk her away for a moonlit night on a rooftop where they would make even the endless heavens blush with what they were doing…

Mamoru giggled, giddy.

Sailor Pluto suddenly popped out of a gateway to the time-space continuum and said, "Oops, sorry, got to erase that last statement—King's orders." She waved her staff with many unnecessary flourishes, accidentally clubbing the comatose men over the head a few times. She shrugged dispassionately. "Oh well. Extra security, just in case they remember something they're not supposed to, I guess." Then she hopped back into her time warp and time flowed on as if it had never stopped.

Mamoru did not giggle, quite un-giddy. Because it would be inappropriate for a future king to feel such emotions. [AN: Hey, what kind of kingdom are you running if you're promoting censorship, huh?

At that very moment, Mister X came bustling out from one of the many trapdoors located onstage, interrupting the beginning of what would have been a very great debate between an amateur novelist and one hunk of a royal guy. His entourage of little minions waddled behind him like a row of ducks to the slaughter, and as they set up the stage, the host loped over.

"Alright, boys," he said, rubbing his hands in anticipation (a gesture that disturbed Mamoru to no end). "We're starting the show in a few minutes, so you just hang onto your bottoms and stay right here."

Motoki asked curiously, "But what about the girls? I thought we were supposed to meet them?"

Mister X waved a hand dismissively, obviously not taken by Motoki's lesser charms. "You'll meet them after the show starts."

"So we don't even get to see who we're supposedly going to get together with?" Mamoru said dubiously, raising his eyebrow. The announcer turned to him so fast that his newly-applied toupee flew off and did a little jig on the stage before spinning to a complete stop. "Why Mamoru-san!" He laughed appreciatively, ignoring Motoki completely and focusing on Mamoru as if he had just declared himself ruler of the world (which wasn't too far a stretch from the truth). "Of course, of course…but in due time, my friend!"

"I'm not your friend, Mister Baka-X. I want you out of my sight in three seconds."

"Yessiree!" he said cheerfully, before prancing off in a sort of lopsided sprint to the other side of a newly-erected partition.

"Right little ray of sunshine, isn't he," Motoki grumbled, resentful of being so blatantly disregarded.

Silence settled over them once again. All four men sat around moping about their prospects, when a rather plain-looking brunette girl trundled by, looking every which way with a finger to her lips and murmuring to herself, "Ahhh, where is everybody? Which way, which way?"

Mamoru stood up, grateful for a distraction. He always had a thing for damsels in distress. "Are you looking for something, Miss?" he asked. Startled, the girl jumped—and landed promptly on the forgotten toupee, slipping in a tremendously exaggerated motion and about to land flat on her back when—

"Whoops," Mamoru chuckled, catching her neatly by the waist in a familiar motion. His hands tingled with unexpected anticipation, and a comfortable but surprising feeling swept through his body. He was about to set her back on her feet when he caught the look on her face. At first she seemed a bit dazed at the suddenness of the rescue, and then, coming to her senses, she flushed a becoming shade of pink and turned away to keep from staring at him.

'Cute,' Mamoru thought to himself with a hint of a smile. She was by no means extraordinary, but he felt the slightest tug of affection for her obvious innocence and youthfulness. "You okay?" he said softly, and unbeknownst to himself, he leaned forward intently.

"Um…yes…!" She squeaked, her eyes flickering back and forth with evident anxiety between his intense gaze and his very, very inviting lips.

"Good," was all he said, before he lifted her gently back onto her feet again. Looking as if she might soon melt into a puddle, the girl bit her lip and looked down at her toes.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Mamoru said warmly, unaware of the gawking he was beginning to receive from the other men present for his model gallantry. How the heck did he do it? "Now what exactly were you looking for again?"

"Oh! Well, I was looking for, the um…" She looked around desperately, tugging uncomfortably at the relatively long end of her ponytail. "The girls?"

"They're right over on the other side of the partition," Ryo jumped in, eager for an opportunity to show off to his respected sempai. "I heard one of the workmen mention it when they were putting it up."

"Right," said Mamoru, turning his back to a disappointed Ryo, who sauntered glumly to his seat. "Why don't I take you over there?"

"Huh?" The girl laughed, visibly relaxing. "Oh, no, that's alright, I can find my way just fine. Er, I think."

"Don't worry, my pleasure," he replied, adding in an undertone as they strolled away, "Really."

She giggled. "Do you work here?"

Mamoru looked at her with mock incredulity. "I'm not crazy, you know. Well, maybe, but not _that_ crazy," he amended with a grin, remembering the earlier chat between himself and his reflection. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know, the same. Dragged into this myself by a few friends."

Mamoru replied in friendly understanding, and they exchanged comfortable banter as they came to a standstill.

"—and it came up to about here—well, no, _here_, actually, all frizzled and poufy like a, uh, well, a lion that's…ah, you get what I mean."

The girl laughed delightedly, a pretty tinkling sound. "I much prefer the wet look, if you put it that way. Well, no, I'd prefer it either way, but much more now that you've mentioned the alternative." She winked mischievously, but at the same time looked taken aback by her own daring.

Mamoru hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the familiarity of her expression. Twirling a strand of loose hair around her finger, she looked up with a smile. "I was wondering, er, M—"

Mamoru's eyes widened in unexpected anticipation. He did not recall ever having told her his name. Had he?

"M-Mister…"

A low breath mingling relief and disappointment escaped him, although he could not possibly explain why. "Chiba Mamoru," he supplied with quick composure.

"Yes, well, _Mamoru-san_, I was wondering what would make a guy like you come onto…a show like this?" She kicked at the ground with her foot.

"Oh—oh, well…Miss…?"

The girl's head snapped up and she looked flustered, even alarmed. "Uh—I, well, my name's—I mean, that is to say, I'm U—whoaaa!"

And she completely vanished.

"Wha—?" He looked around frantically, eyes glazing over the closing trapdoor on the ground in his trepidation. She was gone—she was _gone_—!

Normally, Mamoru is not so susceptible to little nuisances like this one. However, he felt as if his day had gotten off to a bad enough start already, so it reasonably followed that when this mystery girl disappeared faster than Cinderella at the ball, the only thing he thought to do was to panic. His head spun around like a deranged owl's. Was witnessing witchcraft a criminal offense in Japan?

Next moment, a pair of blinding spotlights blazed on the spot that put an end to all thought.

"LADIES…AND GENTLEMEN!"

He froze.

"Welcome to Tokyo's world-famous dating show, where we help you find your soulmate for life! I'm your host, Mister X—and _these_, my lovely people, are today's lucky lovers!"

The crowd, which seemed to appear before him as suddenly as if by magic, roared its approval. And as Mamoru listened to the cheers and whistles, he forgot all about his new acquaintance and could only think one thing.

Somebody was going to pay for breaking open the gates of hell.

And he had the dreadful feeling he knew exactly who it was going to be.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hmm…I WONDER who the poor miserable suffering bloke will be? I certainly do like to make the man suffer, don't I? I've had this writing on my computer for almost two-and-a-half weeks now—but it's nearly unrecognizable from its original draft, and I hope this month has been worth it! As far as posting goes, I was originally planning on a story-posting regimen of once every three weeks, on Sunday—but chances are that three weeks won't happen, and it might cross into four. Feedback might add gasoline to this rickety old mode of transportation for…um, language. Or for bad metaphors, take your pick.

What will happen? Is action imminent? Will this writer ever stop spouting nonsense and get down to writing up the next chapter? If you have any feedback, particularly longer and more detailed reviews, don't hesitate to e-mail me at (gosh, I hate this keeps deleting my e-mail!) ala underscore verity at yahoo! You get the gist. I'll be more likely to respond there, and I do love getting e-mails! Feedback is like sustenance to me! So if you have anything you'd like me to change, or read of your own work, or just ideas in general, feel free to flood my inbox and review page!

Cheers, Ala Verity


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